By Chris Ryan
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Extra resources for Firefight
Why me? 'Will asked. 'What the hell can I do? ' Pankhurst's nose twitched. 'You work out or go running almost every day,' he noted. 'You drink heavily a couple of times a week. ' Will's eyes narrowed. 'Oh, we've been keeping an eye on you, Will. And actually there are certain reasons why you're ideal for what we have in mind. It's complicated and I can't explain here. I'd like to invite you to come back up with me to London. ' Will looked around. The spooks were following at a discreet distance and a few members of the public had started to wander around the graveyard.
He drew the curtain again and put the noise from his mind. Sometimes the pipes could make strange sounds in these old buildings, sounds that could be creepy in the middle of the night. That was it. The pipes. He returned to the sink, turned on the tap, filled his glass and sipped it thoughtfully. Abdul-Qahhar was halfway back to his bed when there was another noise. He turned his head quickly towards the door. It seemed to have come from outside, in the corridor, and this time round there was no mistaking it: it was no bird; it wasn't the rain; it didn't sound like the pipes.
Funny, he thought to himself, how he could spend half his life in theatres of war in the most godforsaken parts of the world, yet a simple trip to London could put him on edge. Then he looked around him. The director of MI5 was sitting next to him; two spooks were up front. He had to remind himself that actually, this was anything but a simple trip to London. What could they possibly want with him? All he knew how to do was fight and there must be a hundred other people - highly trained and still in service - who could do that as well as him.
Firefight by Chris Ryan